


things I can't control

by Goodluckdetective (scorpiontales)



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Ensemble Cast, F/F, Nightmares, Past Brainwashing, Past Relationship(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-21
Updated: 2016-09-21
Packaged: 2018-08-16 10:41:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8099038
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scorpiontales/pseuds/Goodluckdetective
Summary: Lena goes away on a three day mission. Amélie waits.





	

**Author's Note:**

> so i wrote this all in 3 hours so YOLO. Because I finally had free time. It's a miracle. Any other ships are so implied you can't even notice em.

Lena leaves for her mission on a Wednesday.

Amélie is there when they depart. It’s a small party that accompanies Lena, a handful of agents, all suited for speed and stealth. Satya, Hanzo, Ana, Genji and Reinhardt all chat on the hangar around and hour before they’re set to depart, rather cheerful despite the nature of the mission. Hanzo looks to be arguing with his brother about a foolish topic, probably something childishly ridiculous. It’s an echo, Amélie thinks of who they might used to be, the conversation the same but the tension in both their shoulders a sign of years passed. Ana and Reinhardt make small talk near the ship itself, swapping old war stories and Satya looks to be practicing making small shapes and projections. It’s a light atmosphere despite the mission ahead, and Amélie finds herself lingering in the darker thoughts no one wants to confront. She knows who they’re facing. Talon does not believe in mercy and it does not take prisoners.

No, Talon likes to take its enemies and mold them into something they can make sharp and deadly. Like her, before she managed to break free long enough for the formula to wear off.

Five minutes before they’re set to leave, those who will be left behind arrive at the dock. There’s a sense of dread in the air that they all know far too well as they exchange greetings and pleasantries, words meant to sooth. Ana hugs her daughter tight and says she’ll make dinner as soon as she gets back. Satya speaks briefly with Mei about some research she would like investigated in her absence. McCree claps Genji on the back and tells him he still owes him six dollars from a long forgotten bet.

Lena comes up to her when people start breaking up into more serious conversation, words like “I’ll be back” and “Stay safe.” She’s wearing her favorite new jacket, the lavender one Amélie got her when they first started dating, and she grins wide. She looks optimistic. At least, more optimistic than Amélie feels.

“Don’t get too bored without me, will ya,” Lena says, reaching forward to pull her in a quick hug. She has to leave a minute earlier than the others; she after all, is flying the shuttle. “Relax a spell too. Try not to spend all your time in the range and-”

Amélie kisses her to shut her up. It’s an effective way to calm Lena’s nerves. When Lena pulls back, blowing up her hair to get it out of her face, Amélie thinks she’d rather like a picture of her face as it is now; delighted on the cusp of a laugh.

“Stay safe,” Amélie says. It sounds cheap. She’s said it a million times before, not only to Lena but to a Gérard, back what seems like a lifetime ago. “Don’t harass the snipers.”

“Like I’d harass any snipers but you.” Lena leans up to press a kiss to her cheek. “And maybe Hanzo, but that’s because he’s a grump.” She straightens out her jacket and leans back on her heels. “See you in three days, alright?”

“See you then.”

She’s gone shortly after that, the rest going with her. Amélie stands in the hangar as they take off, watching the ship until it vanishes from sight. A few wait with her, all silent. When the hangar closes, Fareeha lets out a long sigh.

“You think it would get easier,” she says. Amélie knows she’s not talking to her; the Amari family is not fond of her for obvious reasons. Angela, who is standing next to the other woman, wraps her arm around Fareeha’s waist.

“I don’t think it ever gets easier,” Angela says. They turn around and leave the hangar. Amélie stands alone, tangling her fingers together. Since being free of her brainwashing, she’s felt a phantom presence on her ring finger, a reminder of what Talon has taken from her. She thinks to a scene like this over a decade ago, where she had seen Gérard off, hoping he would come back in one piece.

A day later, Talon had broken into her apartment and stole her away while she screamed and screamed and screamed-

She shakes her head, dispelling unpleasant memories. Her hands fall back to her sides. Talon cannot come for her now: this base has her safe within its walls. Gérard is long dead, no longer prone to their influence. Talon cannot take anything more from her that they haven’t already.

Lena’s face appears in her mind. _No_ , she thinks. There are indeed things Talon can still take from her.

* * *

Day one she spends actually relaxing.

She used to be better at it, before Talon. She relished days off back then, spent time catching up on television she liked, doing shopping she’d long put off, and sometimes getting her nails done if time allowed it. When Gérard was home, the day could be spent doing other activities, though usually the ended up spending a good deal of time just spoiling their dog. Sometimes Lena would stop by, young and chipper, and Amélie still treasures the memories she has of Lena, Gérard and herself curled up on the couch, watching a terrible B-List movie as Gérard and Lena discuss something stupid one of the new recruits did recently.

Talon didn’t let her have free time, back when she was Widowmaker. She practiced shooting, she ate, she practiced sparring, she slept, she read reports. There was no time allowed for deviation. Now, even with Talon a distant presence in her mind, she still finds it hard to escape the sensation that she should be doing something at all times. Lena helps with that most days, reminding her when she’s working too much, or needs to take a break, but not that isn’t an option. For a full hour, she lies on her bed thinking of how she wants to practice her shooting but shouldn’t. It’s dreadful.  

She goes to the younger generation for a distraction. Hana is watching television, something old and dramatic, and when Amélie sits down, she turns on the subtitles. They get through three episodes before either of them speaks.

“I always hated being left behind on missions,” Hana says, not looking away from the television. “Waiting to see if everyone would come back? It was the worst.”  

Amélie makes a soft noise of agreement. Many people in the base forget how experienced Hana is for someone so young. Not Amélie. She has seen Hana in the kitchen some nights, sipping at tea, dark circles under her eyes. That woman knows the way of nightmares.

“Wanna watch the next season?” Hana asks. Amélie nods. As they continue to watch throughout the day, their own movie marathon, others around the base show to join. Angele and Fareeha appear sometime after dinner. Lúcio joins after a small online concert he streamed back home. By the end of the night, many of the members of Overwatch still at base are crammed into the rec room. Fawkes and McCree have been providing commentary for the last hour. It’s both horrible and delightful.

As the night gets late, everyone disperses. Hana starts streaming and while Amélie hangs out to watch it for a bit, video games have never truly interested her. She leaves as Mei is trying desperately not to get out lapped in Mario Kart, and heads to bed.

She doesn’t dream.

It’s for the best really.

* * *

 Day two the away team misses their assigned call in time.

The call in time is a simple thing, nothing more than checking in. Skipping it, while not encouraged can mean a variety of things that are less than dire, from the mission getting too busy to spare any time, to surveillance being too tight to risk an outgoing line. On the missions she’s run for Overwatch, Amélie  has skipped her own mandatory call time at least three times and in all of those incidents, the reasons were less than dire. The away team it likely under the same circumstances. The chance of them being in trouble at this point in the operation is unlikely.

The thought doesn’t help Amélie in the slightest. She’s hyper aware of everything that could possibly go wrong, anything Talon could pull to disrupt the mission. It makes it impossible to even attempt relaxing, and with a sigh, she resigns herself to a day of making herself feel useful despite Lena’s encouragements to “relax.”

She stops by Mei’s lab first. Amélie is no scientist, but sometimes Mei needs assistance on her projects that a helping hand can provide. Plus, her company is not unwelcome. When Amélie was recovering from Talon’s brainwashing, the woman was more than kind, often coming by to fill her in on news events both of them had missed during the time life was out of their control. When Amélie  enters the lab, she finds Mei sitting with Zarya instead. Her weather machine is in the air and charming snowflakes floating down onto the lab table.

“Hello Amélie!” Mei says when Amélie walks in. She doesn’t look cold in the slightest.

“Mei. Zarya.” Zarya nods at her, a polite smile on her face. She is not a woman quick to trust a former assassin. Amélie doesn’t blame her. “I’m doing some work with snowflakes and Zarya wanted to come by and watch.”

“It reminds me of home,” Zarya says with a shrug when Amélie turns to look her way. “And good memories of the front.”

Amélie  has memories of snow as well, but none of them are pleasant. They are of stakeouts for Talon, of perches with tight body armor, and targets she can only remember as shadow. She was always the ideal assassin to send on that work, immune to the cold that would try other agent’s patience. Even now, she had trouble remembering to wear jackets when there is a chill outside. It is often once she actually leaves the building that she remembers she can feel the cold again.

Zarya reaches out a hand to let a snowflake fall into her palm. It melts on contact, instantaneous. Amélie wonders if snowflakes did the same on her own skin, when she was Widowmaker. Or did they linger against flesh that felt like ice?

“Amélie?” Mei tilts her head. “Are you alright?”

Amélie snaps out of the thought, shaking her head. “I am fine. I just was distracted.” She waves to the pair. “I must go. Please, enjoy the snow.”

She leaves shortly after that, letting the lab doors shut behind her. For a moment, she considers going to talk to Angela if she needs help, then decides against it; she hates the smell of the medbay. Instead, she wanders for a bit, waiting for a task to hit her and when she walks past the training rooms, she lets out a long sigh.

Someone is already inside when she gets there, and she can’t hide her surprise when she finds it’s McCree. He tends to prefer the training room early in the morning. His hat isn’t on him, and odd sight, and as he lines up his targets and shoots, there’s a concentration in his eye she’s not used to seeing outside the battlefield. He’s a good shot, a better soldier than many give him credit for.

Reaper talked about him sometimes, back with Talon. It was always the same, the cowboy, the Ingrate, the good for nothing. Bitter words from a bitter man. At the time, she’d thought nothing of it. It was only once coming to Overwatch and seeing the picture of Gabriel Reyes slinging his arm over Jesse McCree’s shoulder that she realized those comments were out of place.

A terrible part of her wonders if Reaper was like her. Something Talon made anew, killing the original to mold a weapon that would cut deep. Had Gabriel Reyes, the Reyes she knew as Amélie, come out already looking for revenge on an era passed when Talon found him? Or had Talon found a man screaming in agony and thought “he would make a fine soldier.”

She shudders and heads to grab her own gun. McCree says nothing as she sets up her own line of targets. They shoot for over an hour without talking. It is by far the longest Amélie has heard McCree be quiet.

“I’d rather be out there with them,” McCree says later, as he starts to put away is revolver. He looks terrible, Amélie thinks, hair greasy, dark circles around his eyes. Nightmares most likely; she knows he has them. Hanzo had said as much during one of their many competitions, something about staying up to help a friend ruining his aim.

Hanzo has exactly three people he would call friends on the base: McCree, Mei and herself. And McCree is the only person whose room is close enough for Hanzo to hear him scream.

“I think we all would,” Amélie says. She’s taking a break, watching McCree pack up. McCree sighs, running his hand through his hair. She wonders if it is always this messy. Does the hat usually hide it?

“You know,” he says. “I was supposed to be on that mission. The one with Ana.” He notices Amélie flinch, and holds up his hands. “That wasn’t meant to be a shot at you; I don’t blame a man for what happens with someone else pulling his strings.” He stares at Amélie a second more before continuing. “Gabe took me off of it. Wanted me to fill out some paperwork. When I saw Ana off, she promised me she’d invite me to dinner if I managed to get through the whole stack.” He lets out a sigh. “I don’t think she realized a few days back. That she was offerin’ the same. Brought back some memories.”

Amélie thinks back to the hangar back to Fareeha and Ana. How Ana had promised Fareeha dinner. McCree must have been invited as well.

“I’m sorry-” McCree shakes his head.

“You don’t gotta be sorry for nothing; I told you we’re fine. Just my head; not your fault.” He forces a smile. “Take care of yourself, alright? These days tend to drag. Specially’ on those who’ve waited and kept waiting.”

She thinks of Gérard as he leaves. A husband gone by her own hand. The loss hadn’t sunk in until Talon dragged her in for reprogramming, a brief pang that she did not want this, want him gone, echoing through her mind.

She supposes that what it’s like to lose people even without the brainwashing. It never sinks in at once. It takes a moment.

She wonders if McCree’s for Ana was coming to an empty dinner table.

* * *

 Day three she has a nightmare.

She’s had nightmares like this before, but they usually follow a different tune. She’s in her apartment, the one she used to share with Gérard when the doorbell rings. She goes to answer the door, the dog nipping at her heels, wondering if it’s work bothering her on her day off. When she opens it, a woman with long black hair and lavender skin greets her. Grabs her shoulder. Whispers in her ear something she can never remember upon waking. She usually wakes up from those dreams with a gasp, heart thumping in her chest. Lena usually talks her down from them, grounding her in the present, just as  Amélie does for Lena when she wakes up worried she’s about to disappear.

This time, the nightmares goes differently. She’s in her room at the base, not her apartment. When there’s a knock on her door, no dog runs to follow, only the sound of her heels echoing against the tile. She opens it almost expecting Widowmaker to be staring back at her.

Instead it is Lena, eyes red, outfit now skin tight with a v-neck plunge the Talon designers added for their own whim. Her accelerator glints red, makes static noises instead of it’s usual hum. The hand on her shoulder is quicker than she can react, the voice in her ear says something she can remember on waking.

_“Miss me, luv?”_

Amélie wakes up from this nightmare screaming.

It takes her thirty minutes for hear heartbeat to slow, and another thirty to realize she’s not going back to sleep anytime soon. In only her nightgown, she wanders, heading through the base at the early hour of four in the morning. No one is in the kitchen, the usual meeting spot for those with night terrors, and while she is happy she’s the only one suffering, it is indeed true that misery loves company.

She heads to the part of the base that is a garden without really thinking about it. It’s a pathetic stretch of land, all enclosed by the tall walls of the building. Ana is responsible for it’s upkeep as well as Satya and surprisingly Fawkes. There’s one lone tree in the place, a large oak of some sort, and any space that isn’t the courtyard is dedicated to flowers, and vegetables.

This is where she finds the omnics. Bastion looks to be recharging in the corner, his favorite yellow bird resting on his head. Zenyatta, as usual, is overlooking the flowers, humming a sound Amélie  cannot recognize. When he notices her enter, he stops and looks up.

“Hello,” he says, giving her a polite wave. Back when he first started greeting her, Amélie had been thrown entirely off guard; she’d taken one of his own. Now she expects it. “Shouldn’t you be sleeping?”

“Shouldn’t you?”

“I do not need to rest.” The attempt at banter falls flat. Of course he doesn’t need to rest. Amélie blames how tired she is for the mistake. “But I believe you do, unless I have been lied to for twenty years.”

Amélie bends down to look at the flowers. There’s a path of yellow lilies there, Lena’s work. They’re Amélie’s favorite. She reaches out as almost if to touch one before deciding against it. “I could not sleep.”

“Dreams?”

A bitter smile crosses her lips. “Something like that.”

There’s a moment of silence before Zenyatta speaks again. “Would you like to discuss it?”

Amélie looks up at him and tilts her head. “You want to talk to me?”

Zenyatta stares at her. Or she thinks; it’s hard to tell with omnics sometimes. “I will not pretend to not hold any ill will because of the past.” Amélie starts to get up, ready to leave if needed. “But I will also not be so foolish to blame a person for actions they did while controlled. I believe it would be...hypocritical. At least, coming from one such as myself.”

 _The God Program_ , Amélie thinks. She’s never thought about it in that form before. It’s always been a threat to humanity in her eyes. She has never once considered it might also be a threat to omnics.

That now seems like an oversight.

Amélie walks towards Zenyatta and after a second of hesitation, sits down on a bench across from him. She tangles her fingers together, and as she speaks, she keeps her eyes on the lilies, the look of delight Lena had on her face when they bloomed.

They speak until dawn.

* * *

 The carrier comes in right on time the next day.

No one is injured, thank God, the mission going off without a hitch. Amélie is fully ready for the armful of Lena she gets when it happens, not even falling over as the other woman hits her at full speed. The kiss they share is deep, probably too deep for polite company, but Amélie finds herself not giving a damn.

Later, in their shared room, Lena goes over her mission at a mile a minute. Amélie has convinced her to skip chatting with everyone else after the debrief--something they’ll both get crap for later--and after going over how Satya managed to get five men with her gun, she looks to Amélie .

“How were you while I was gone?” She tilts her head. “Not lonely I hope?”

Amélie thinks back to the television show, Mei in her lab, McCree in the training room, the omnics in the garden. “Actually, no. I wasn’t.”

Lena puts on an impressive dramatic pout. “You didn’t miss me at all?”

Amélie rolls her eyes at that before turning over to pin Lena to the bed. She grins wide, the smirk she knows Lena loves and leans in to whisper in her ear.

“Now, chérie, I never said that.”

Lena’s laugh can be heard down the hall.

**Author's Note:**

> you can find me on tumblr if you want at goodluckdetective.tumblr.com


End file.
